


Any way to distract and sedate

by Latenightsgunfights



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Cullen Rutherford Has Issues, Depictions of withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Romance, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latenightsgunfights/pseuds/Latenightsgunfights
Summary: Cullen suffers with Lyrium withdrawal, Ana wants him to know he doesn't have to do it alone.





	Any way to distract and sedate

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is important so I just want to say THIS IS NOT AND WILL NEVER BE A ROMANTICATION OF ADDICTION AND SHOULD NOT BE READ AS SUCH. It's is merely a fic about someone you love helping you through a hard time. It's a one shot, there's only so much in one chapter. Cullen is not 'cured' and it SHOULD NOT be read as such. I haven't personally seen it but it appears that this romanticisation is an issue in this fandom, and it is one I will not ever take part in. Addiction is someone that affects you everyday, this I know better than most. Just wanted to get this out there. 
> 
> As always thank you for reading.

It starts as a want.

  
And then a want becomes a need.

  
And then the need becomes agony.

  
Agony leaves him sitting, head on the desk, heaving, desperately trying to tackle wave after wave of red hot pain. Valiant as he fought, the battle was not in his favour on this day, and he found himself lost in his own head, the craving hitting him like an uncontrollable lust. _Just this once._

  
He roared, clawing at his scalp before gripping blonde curls in both hands, hunching over in a desperate attempt to make it stop. His hands were shaking, hard. Uncontrollable tremors possessed each finger before spreading to the hand, the wrist, the arm, until soon enough his whole body was shaking as if left in the cold. Painful pounding behind his eyes blurred his vision, and he closed them in the hope that it would provide even minimal relief from the agony. The pain still continued, somehow getting worse. It was as if every fibre, every cell in his body had been plotted and designed to destroy him from the inside out, leaving a hollow shell of a man, a man who gave into temptations, to addiction.

  
As moments passed, breathing seemed to become more and more of a difficult task, panic curling and morphing into a giants’ hand, gripping his lungs like a drowning man clings to a lone log, anxiety like a river sweeping breaths away. The river was his mind, sanity slowly flowing, slipping almost, into the unknown. He was cold, but also hot. He needed to escape. But he couldn’t escape his own mind. _It’s everything I think about._

  
Cullen rose, unsteady, to legs that seemed to not be his own. _Just this once,_ he mentally repeated as if it somehow made it better. He stumbled once reaching full height, clutching the corner of his desk in a death grip to prevent himself from falling. His knees felt weak, usually strong limbs, trained to fight, now somehow week and feeble as a toddler. His eyes met the bookshelf where the dreaded substance lay, hidden between two novels, an innocent disguise for something that was anything but.

  
He had broken into sweats now, a single drop escaping from his hair and crawling down the crevice of his back.

  
_Just. This. Once._

  
He let go of the desk, the tight grip leaving angry red marks on his palm from where the wood had dug in harshly to pale skin. He moved forward with the sole intention of tearing the book from the shelf, not caring if the entire piece of worn furniture came crashing to the floor along side it. It was already battered up from the other times Cullen had battled his addiction and lost, a large, fist-like dent adorning the sides along with various claw marks.

  
Cullen reached the shelf, stumbling and nearly falling into it, the pain still lacing his very core. It was in his sights, the key to salvation, a means to end the suffering that clawed at his insides until it seemed as if they were raw and bleeding. His heart hammered, hard, in his ears, intertwining with the headache that pounded at his skull like a fist clad in a gauntlet of iron, creating a deadly, agonising torment that fogged up his thoughts like condensation to a mirror. He reached, high up to the top shelf, for his saviour.

  
He met nothing but pain.

  
It shot up his outstretched arm, a sickening relay as it raced to envelop every cell, every tissue, every muscle. Cullen screamed, broken and raw and doused in pain, before his knees buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground, several books on top of him. He was too delirious to throw his arms out, instead folding them beneath him as he fell, causing a sickening crack to resound as his wrist hit the floor at an awkward angle, followed by another, firmer bang as his jaw collided with the wood.

  
As he lay there, still, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead and vision swimming in black, he let out one last agonised groan.

  
He welcomed the comforting embrace of unconsciousness with open arms.

* * *

  
Ana Lavellan walked quietly across Skyhold, bare feet slapping against the sun-warmed stone.. She smiled, warm and hearty as she basked in the afternoon sunlight. It was bright and warm, the perfect time for a short stroll to clear her head, even a mere twenty minutes relief from her duties as Inquisitor was greatly appreciated.

  
But alas, the work of the Inquisitor was never truly complete.

  
While it was disguised as an afternoon stroll, she had purpose. She had intended to retire to her Chambers to begin chipping away at her mountain of paperwork, but had paused at a gentle tap on her shoulder. Josephine Montilyet had stopped her. When the other woman kindly asked the elf to deliver paperwork to Commander Cullen, Ana was incapable of refusing. She wished she could do more for the other woman, surprised that Montilyet hadn’t began sprouting premature greys at the stress her job involved.

  
So now she walked, admittedly taking her sweet time to enjoy the weather, to Cullen’s office. Ana ran her fingers along the worn stone around her, enjoying the texture under her fingers, the dirt underneath her nails making her feel almost an innate connection with the soil and stone. She enjoyed moments like this. They calmed her.

  
Her thoughts wondered to the man she was soon to speak to. Their relationship had been _interesting_ to say the least. They had never partook in anything other than shy flirting, but Ana’s instinct told her there was something there, told her that it just needed to be cherished and nurtured until it grew at a pace it was happy with, like a rare plant. She _liked_ the Commander, that much was true, and she could tell he felt at least moderately similar from his flushed cheeks, shy eyes looking away when she said something particularly sweet and timid laughs followed by him scratching his nape awkwardly. He was shy and awkward, but also handsome and strong. Yes, Ana liked him very much.

  
She stopped at his door, taking time to fix her immaculate braids and assure that the gentle wave of her fringe complimented the delicate lines of the _Vallaslin_ surrounding her eyes. She knocked the door with the gentleness and grace only she could muster, in hopes that maybe the Commander would recognize her distinct knock and welcome her in with a smile.

  
Instead, Ana was met with silence.

  
Her eyes widened, and she knocked again. Sure enough she heard no sound from within, not even the tell-tale shuffling that revealed the room was occupied. _But the door is unlocked?_ Ana knew the ex-Templar well enough to know he would not leave his office  
\- and with that important documents- without locking the door, keeping them away from prying eyes.

  
Lavellan took a deep breath, preparing herself for any reprimand that came with invading the Commanders private workroom, before pushing the door open.

  
She glanced around for a moment, eyes adjusting to the unusual darkness and disarray of the room, before her eyes fell upon a large heap on the floor.

  
“Cullen!”

  
She ran towards the unconscious man, dropping to her knees as she came close, the papers she was holding scattering across the floor. She lifted his head into her lap, alarmed at the immense heat coming from his skin. Ana ran her fingers through his hair, before beginning to undo the buckles and clasps that held his armour in place. Her small body struggled with his weight, but she was determined and soon managed to remove the restrictive garment from his sweat covered chest and limbs. When he was clad in only a tunic, she lifted his torso to her chest again.

  
Ana tapped Cullen on the face insistently, trying to get him to wake even the smallest amount so she could move him. She checked him over, meanwhile, noticing with obvious distress the way his wrist was twisted and the blackening bruise on his jaw. She shook him again.

  
When Cullen failed to wake, Ana ran to fetch help, her own healing magic wouldn’t help here.

* * *

“You sure he ain’t been at the liquor?”

  
Ana glanced at The Iron Bull, understanding his attempts to lighten the mood but unable to crack even a small smile due to the sheer gravity of the situation. Bull was close by and physically able to lift Cullen, so Ana had called for his help. The hulking Qunari had one arm under the Commanders legs, the other at his back, and was carrying the suffering man to Ana’s chambers. Cullen was pale, dark circles surrounding his eyes and cheeks sunken. Ana knew we was strong, but in this moment he appeared to be wasting away like the light of a small candle. Ana hated it.

  
“I don’t know, Bull,” Ana lied. She knew about Cullen stopping lyrium, she knew and she had failed to keep an eye on him. It was her duty as Inquisitor, and she failed. She was partially to blame for the lone suffering of the man she cared about, and she was beside herself with guilt. She wrung bony hands together and bit her lip, faint spots of blood appearing as she did so. She noticed the Qunari look upon both her and Cullen with concern, but made the tactical choice to stay silent. He knew something was wrong, and had a solemn seriousness distorting his features despite his joking. Instead he continued to carry the man up the stairs and into Ana’s large bed, where healers awaited. The man was still sweating and unconscious.

  
“C’mon boss, let ‘em do their job,” Bull encouraged, impossibly large hand strangely gentle as it nearly enveloped the entirety of her upper arm. He pulled gently, and she left the room, still staring at Cullen’s pale face.

* * *

  
It was late into the night when he felt consciousness returning. He groaned, low and pained, the pounding in his head still remaining like a persistent itch. Cullen moved slightly, eyes still closed, and froze when he felt soft sheets beneath him. He stiffened further, panic clawing its way to his chest. _Where am I?_ His breathing quickened slightly.

  
Almost as quick as it came, the panic was vanquished by a small, soft fingers running through his hair. It soothed him, and he found his eyelids fluttering. He mumbled something though the words were lost even to him, and he heard a gentle hum in response.

  
“Cullen?”

  
His eyes fluttered once more. He groaned again.

  
“Cullen, _ma vhenan_, wake up please.”

  
He cracked his eyes open slowly, the harsh light like a punch to his already throbbing head. The woman seemed to notice this, and he felt a slight weight lift from the bed next to him before the gentle noise of curtains closing. The room became dim.

  
“That’s it my dear, look at me.”

  
Opening his eyes was easier now. He felt the weight return and subconsciously moved towards it, the scent of perfume and flowers filling his nostrils. The hand resumed stoking his hair and he sighed in comfort, barely strong enough to feel embarrassed at the open display of affection.

  
“Ana?”

  
He looked at the Elven woman next to him, smiling weakly, dazed. He heard a gasp, and mutters of ‘oh my goodness’ before he felt a weight on his torso. Dumbly, he registered that she was hugging him.

  
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, not even trying to make an excuse. Cullen knew the Inquisitor knew everything. “I’m sorry, I should be better, stronger! Someone should repl-“

  
He was silence by her gently shushing him. “Cullen, you are strong. You were strong enough to make this decision, and you face this pain every day and still remain stoic. You lead the Inquisition soldiers though battle fearlessly. You, and _only you_, Cullen.”

  
He looked at her, dumbfounded, but she continued.

  
“I nearly lost you today, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m the Inquisitor, it is my job to lead, to do what’s right. I failed to give you my undying support. It is I who should be sorry.”

  
Cullen opened his mouth to speak, to do anything but the weight on his chest increased. Ana leaned forward in one swift motion, and kissed him. It was clumsy and inexperienced, neither of them knowing what to do, their teeth clicking together and heads at awkward angles. But it was a kiss. And it was everything Cullen ever hoped for.

  
She pulled away looking at him, flushed. “I-I’m sorry that was unprofessional I-“

  
He kissed her again, carefully avoiding his bandaged arm and ignoring the way his joints creaked in protest. He held her, tight against him, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

  
They pulled away and embraced, Ana assuring him that she would stand by his side through his fight and Cullen half heartedly nodding, to busy focusing on her scent, her hold, her mere presence.

  
His demons would never truly leave, but they would be quieter from now on. 

**Author's Note:**

> ma vhenan- honestly proper inconsistent but i believe this is a term of endearment meaning 'my heart' or somthing like that.
> 
> Vallaslin- Dalish facial tattoos.


End file.
